A few lines, but they aren’t mine.

 

 

LINES WRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR,

July 13, 1798.     Wordsworth.

For I have learned          

To look on nature, not as in the hour     

Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes   

The still, sad music of humanity,               

Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power  

To chasten and subdue. And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy            

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime 

Of something far more deeply interfused,          

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,         

And the round ocean, and the living air,               

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,          

A motion and a spirit, that impels            

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,       

And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still 

A lover of the meadows and the woods,              

And mountains; and of all that we behold           

From this green earth; of all the mighty world   

Of eye and ear, both what they half-create,*

But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din              

Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,          

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,            

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,           

And passing even into my purer mind   

With tranquil restoration:—feelings too               

Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,      

As may have had no trivial influence      

On that best portion of a good man’s life;            

His little, nameless, unremembered acts             

Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,             

To them I may have owed another gift,

Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,     

In which the burthen of the mystery,    

In which the heavy and the weary weight           

Of all this unintelligible world     

Is lighten’d:—that serene and blessed mood,    

In which the affections gently lead us on,            

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,             

And even the motion of our human blood          

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep  

In body, and become a living soul:           

While with an eye made quiet by the power      

Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,             

We see into the life of things.

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